


The stars will shine for you my dear

by Fiathe



Series: Ends of Earth [2]
Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Death as a job guiding the souls, Love, M/M, Souls, To the Ends of the Earth AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:11:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiathe/pseuds/Fiathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junhong has always thought the only way to survive is to be dead on the inside. Actually dying changes the way he lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The stars will shine for you my dear

**Author's Note:**

> Junhong's story. To the Ends of the Earth AU.

You were just seventeen when you died.

Or well not really ‘died’ since you can’t really be categorized as completely dead. Just sorta half-dead, semi-dead, a-little-bit-more-not-alive-than-alive. That sort of concept. Basically you are neither dead nor alive, and that is all that can really be said about the situation. It doesn’t quite make a good over-dinner story to tell, but then again it’s not like you have any dinners to attend anymore, nor the grand delusion you ever will.

Your name was Choi Junhong. Correction: still is Choi Junhong. Although these days you go by Zelo. It’s easier to say, much easier to remember. In the long years between your not-exactly-death-day to present time life has blurred into one rather unmemorable strip of grey and white. Things have oft become hard to recall. Yongguk disapproves of this behavior, but you disapprove of his need to feel disapproval. Your life is your own, no matter how influenced it was by Yongguk-hyung.

But never mind that. We’re getting off point here. All that matters is that you were born Choi Junhong and somewhere along the way you became Zelo. The two are flipsides of the same coin; neither is more you than the other. They say it is not the name that makes the person; it is the journey they walk, the life they lead.

And the life that you – Choi Junhong, Zelo, boy-who-is-neither-dead-nor-alive – lead, that is what this story is about.

And so, just like how all stories should proceed, shall we start from the beginning?

*

As you said, you were seventeen when you died.

You were born and raised in Mokpo as the younger of two boys. Your life was average, normal to say the least. You had a caring mother and a hardworking father and a teasing brother who loved you to bits. You got good grades, and you even took up the skateboard and music as hobbies. Life was average, but it was a good life. You had nothing to complain about.

Until one day – one moment was all it took – and your mother and your father and your older brother were all whisked away.

And at the tender age of ten, you were left alone in this cold, cold world.

*

At first you were shifted from aunt to uncle, from this relative to that relative. But things happened. It wasn’t ever your fault. It was just bad luck, or unsympathetic relatives, or bullying school kids who were still at that immature age where they couldn’t understand what losing all the people you loved in the world could do to you.

It broke you eventually. The uncaring nature of those all around you. You broke down and tried to pull everyone around down with you. You screamed, you wailed, you cried out all the unfairness of this planet for taking away the three people who were the stars and planets to your universe. How could life go on without them? Without three such shining stars?

Eventually you were shunted to some backwater orphanage. You don’t even remember the name of that tiny town. Most probably because that one memory you have of that place burned out any other minor details.

All you remember well is that you spent three, four, five years there. They took care of you well enough. Meals on time, bed by nine, school work done and completed before dinner. Everyday had a clockwork cycle to it, and it was then that you realized that this was life, and life does go on. That no one cares if three stars wink out of existence because there are a hundred thousand more up there. As cruel as it sounds that was the reality you learned of and lived in. People will die and lives may to shatter but the cold, cold world will continue to turn and the stars shine.

And it was at some point around the age of twelve that you understood how tiny you were in the face of the infinite stretch of the universe, how little you and every other human being mattered. At the tender age of twelve you learnt that death was but a tiny ripple in the pond and the world was one big, big churning ocean. And so by the age of thirteen you learned to numb yourself, to tune it all out and to channel that cold, cold world so that you yourself became a cold, cold person.

*

It was a lot easier, being numb. It meant it didn’t hurt when the kids stopped inviting you to play football after school because you were from _that_ orphanage and well _who knows, it could be contagious._ It meant that sticks and stones could break your bones, but those words those ahjummas from the supermarket liked to use cut no deeper than superficial skin. _That poor child_ , they would say, glancing at you with pitiful gazes and hushing their gossip down to a respectable loud whisper. _Family all killed in a car crash. Relatives didn’t want him. The orphanage was the only place willing to take him…_

You would stop at the candy bar section to let their gossip wash over you, a bitter salty tang to its taste. You’d like to think it would feel like the sea, its touch stinging every open wound on your battered body. Somehow cathartic. But then you would remind yourself that you were numb, and that means nothing hurts, nothing stings, nothing can be felt at all. And at that realization, the waves would simply glide over you and it – the pain, the sadness, the feelings of letting go – all ceased to matter.

You put down the candy bar you had been examining and leave the store. The ahjummas pause in their talk and watch you go. Only when you step out and door closes behind you do they continue, reverting to speech of a normal level. You shake your head as you kick up the dust on the road, because _surely_ they must have exhausted their gossip bank. You’ve been here for a year and a half now and they’re _still_ talking about the accident that took your parents and your brother away from you. But then again this is a tiny town. Nothing exciting happens here, and at the age of fourteen you wonder if your entire life will remain in this tiny town, destined to sink into stagnated waters and be forever buried by the mud.

*

It’s a fellow orphanage kid who starts to thaw you. He’s new, just freshly shipped in from Seoul they say. He becomes your roommate and then almost-best-friend instantly. Apparently he was raised solely by his father, if being ‘raised’ was what you could call it. In all honestly he was raised by a bunch of part-time babysitters and hired helpers. None of them ever cared for him. His father on the other hand could not bear to meet his eyes, fearing that every time he did so he would see his wife’s dead face imprinted in his child’s. So his father buried himself in workworkwork and the child was left at home to be cared for as workworkwork by a thousand other blank faces, but then one day too much work got to his father and he collapsed and _it was a heart attack, nothing they could do about it_ ….

His story from then on is not much different from yours. The only alteration is that he was raised with money, wealth and guardians with blind eyes at his disposal. You discover the full extent of this one night when, two mornings after moving in, he breaks open his secret alcohol stash and splits it with you. He’s a good kid, but he hates his relatives. It was clear that none of them wanted him either, they too unsure of how to handle this unloved child. When he suggested moving to an orphanage they agreed only too easily.  

And so here he was.

He’s around the same age as you, but the way he carries himself makes him feel more mature – more worldly – than you will ever be. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the cigarettes. Maybe it’s just the way he knows how to handle the adults to make them leave you two alone that makes you look up to him.

It’s the wrong thing to do. He knows that as well.

“Don’t get too close to me Junhong,” he tells you one night when he’s just that little bit gone past tipsy and you are well the realms of being absolutely smashed. “I’ll ruin you.”

“Nonsense,” you had slurred back.

He had laughed, loud and full and it felt like the wind had taken off. “You’re drunk,” he said, not at all accusingly. More so amused. After all he had been the one to offer you the alcohol despite knowing you were a lightweight. This wasn’t the first time you two had done this. “But honestly Junhong, I’ll ruin you,” he repeats himself.

“Why would do that?” you had managed to mumble, raising yourself unsteadily onto your elbows to look at him.

The two of you had been on the rooftops – out-of-bounds of course –with a blanket laid out and a bottle between the two of you. The stars were out, and boy were they beautiful. He watched your train of gaze upwards and quirked that small smile he always wore when he and only he found the situation amusing. “You don’t get stars like that in Seoul,” he commented lightly.

“No?” you mumbled back, feeling the need to act as counter-commenter despite the inane tiredness that dragged at your limbs and your lips.

“Yeah,” he had sighed, deep and full. “Seoul is lit up by too many neon stars that it drowns out the real ones up there.”

“What do you mean by that hyung?” you had asked, because all you had ever known was Mokpo, and then this dingy little town, and wherever you had gone there had always been stars. Even on the nights when a person could lose everyone they ever loved, there were always stars.

He had rolled over on his side to stare deeply into your eyes. Curiously you had turned as well, but under the full weight of his gaze, you felt yourself blushing deeply and dropped your eyes.

“Junhong,” he said quietly, seriously, the type of tone that demanded attention.  

“Yes hyung?” you had replied.

“I’m a messed up kid, and if you stick around me for too long you’re gonna turn out the same,” he had said warningly.

“I don’t believe you,” you had retorted, sounding a little bit chagrined. “What makes you so sure?”

A soft laugh had vibrated from his ribcage outwards. “Oh Junhong,” he said with tears in the corner of his eyes. “You are precious you know that.”

“Don’t make fun of me hyung,” you had whined.

“I’m not,” he had said reassuringly, and his voice had been so low and quiet and _safe_ that you had chosen to close your eyes and wriggle in to his body warmth. He’s tenses at first, but slowly gives in and melds his body around yours, wrapping his arms around your waist, and tucking your head below his chin.

“Hyung?” you had said softly.

“Yeah Junhong?”

“Why do you think you’re messed up? I mean sure you drink alcohol and you smoke cigarettes even though kids aren’t meant to, but well, adults do it as well? Maybe you’re just a really grown up kid. That’s not messed up, is it?”

That night you had felt a smile against your head and hands that dug a little too tightly into your sides. It had felt like a physical oxymoron. “Oh you are precious Junhong,” he had said in reply. You just couldn’t understand why.  “But I am messed up. You can’t see it on the outside though. It’s all on the inside.”

You frowned. Not that he could have seen it, what with your face buried into his thick sweater. “Then show me,” you had said plaintively.

“No Junhong,” he says back. “You’ll find out one day. Just not today.”

You pout. “Hyuuuung.”

“Go to sleep Jello,” he had said softly, and then as if to cut off the conversation, had begun to sing. It was a lullaby, a gentle little thing. Coupled with the low timbre of his voice – only seventeen and yet so soothing – he had slowly sent you to sleep. But just as you were about to slip into dreamland you felt the soft press of what had to lips against the crest of your head. It was warm and it was gentle and it made you think that maybe it was okay to give your heart to someone again.

You are fifteen when you first fall in love and think that maybe it’s okay to not be completely numb. That loving someone may be acceptable. That loving someone won’t hurt like steel knives embedded into flesh.

It is then at the age of fifteen and three quarters that that tiny hope is shattered. And you proceed to lose it all again.

*

Died from bleeding out they say.

Slit his left wrist. Cut a little too deep into the major artery. He didn’t even have enough strength to call for help before he slipped into the void and never came back.

You were the one who found him, asleep in a sea of his own blood. His eyes had been closed, hands limp against the floor of the shower. A smile was painted on his lips, like he was finally at peace.

You had screamed and screamed and screamed.

They had rushed over, eyes wide and hands that flew to their mouths when they saw his body lying in the shower room. He had been wearing jeans, but somehow that made his bare chest and bare arms all the more vivid. White canvases with the longest, thinnest, reddest scores stretching from his elbow right down to his wrists. He must have started up there and slowly made his way down to the final last lethal cut.

You should have seen it coming.

Seen it in the way he constantly told you he was messed up, in the way he always wore long sleeves, in the way he refused to let you hold his hands.

They say he wouldn’t have felt much pain. He had consumed an entire bottle of Vodka straight, right before he had tumbled into the shower and taken the razor to his wrist. By the time he had slipped and nicked and made that final cut he wouldn’t have felt a thing.

The orphanage is closed down after that. Inquiries are made: questioning how the kid managed to acquire alcohol illegally, how he managed to smuggle it past orphanage hands, how no one ever saw the signs.

You wondered this question the most.

How did _you_ not ever see it coming?

The orphanage is too busy dealing with all this shit that they don’t notice you drowning in waves of grief, salty and stinging, and it’s one day when you’re walking back from school, feeling like every step is weighed down with lead, but only doing so because it’s expected of you, that you stop by the corner shop and hear the ahjummas speaking again.

 _Did you hear about that poor child?_ they whisper furiously. Fresh gossip is rare and they all have sunk their teeth in deep. _Slit his wrists. Mother died from an illness when he was young and he had an estranged relationship with his father. I heard he joined gangs and got drunk almost nightly. Police were even involved! His relatives were almost glad to hand him over to the orphanage. But it looks like bad blood will always remain bad blood-_

You yank down the shelf even before you realize what your body is doing. Ceramic shatters in a rainfall of clay fragments and everyone is suddenly silent. They are staring at you, and you are staring back at them, and slowly your gaze moves to your hands laced with tiny red cuts. What have you done?

You back away from them all. In the process your worn out sneakers crunch loudly on the ceramic, startling everyone The ahjummas flinch and that’s all it takes. You spin on your heels and run because that is the only sensible thing you can think of doing right now.

Your mind is white noise, a buzzing haze of adrenaline and terror. When you stop you are in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but your backpack and a bleeding hand. It’s night now. You stare up at the skies illuminated by a thousand stars and you realize once again that you have lost someone you love, and this is grief. It feels like your entire body is being pulled in half, bones and muscle and tissue divulged into two paths. It feels like fingernails digging deep into your chest, cutting lacerations into your heart so that vessels burst and muscle sags. Breathing feels like an impossibility.

And yet the stars still shine.

Someone has died and the world still rotates. Life still goes on. The stars still shine. You’re crying without even realizing it, the taste salty on your tongue. You are fifteen bordering on sixteen now, and you stand here under the relentless stars thinking that maybe being numb is the way to go after all.

*

You don’t go back to the orphanage.

It’s not because you broke all that stuff in the supermarket. It’s because there’s too many memories back there, memories you never thought you’d make, but memories nonetheless. And you don’t want memories. You want a blissful numbness of not thinking, not being, not existing, and so you run away from it all.

So you leave it all behind.

You sneak onto a bus late at night. No one cares about a boy in a ratty hoodie and scruffy sneakers. You make your way up north, stealing leftovers that people can’t be bothered to throw away and doing part time jobs where people don’t ask questions in order to scrape together some cash. Days and hours and a birthday passes, and one day you find yourself stepping out onto the streets of the big city.

Buildings are tall and the lights are blindingly bright. People here don’t give you a second look. There are guys with arms flung around girls in scanty skirts, and businessmen looking furtively at their watches as they scurry by. This is the first time you’ve seen so many people in such a small area. None of them care that you stink or are scruffy or that you look like an alien who has just stepped onto Earth staring wide-mouthed at every sight. This is the big city and this is where he was born and raised. In hindsight it doesn’t really mean much though.

You look up at the night sky, and realize belatedly that oh, he was right.

Seoul is indeed starless.

*

You are huddled in an alleyway and your stomach rumbles. Money is difficult to get in the big city where no one has time for small, scruffy boys. At least in the countryside there was always a need for hired hand to do the chores, but up here, even chores require paperwork and permission and all sorts of things that you do not possess. So here you are. You are sixteen and hungry and tired and homesick for a home that doesn’t even exist, and for the first time ever, the stars do not shine.

Just as you think it couldn’t get worse, it begins to rain. Slowly and then suddenly. You just sit there and let the water soak you entirely. What else can you do?

You watch as people rush for cover, dashing for the nearest shelter or furrowing through bags to grab umbrellas. There’s giggles as a bunch of girls manage to grab their black umbrella and flick it open but they’re just that bit late and their hair glistens under the city lights with dewdrops. One playfully bemoans that she has a date later and she _simply can’t meet him with her hair looking like a rat’s nest_. So the girls giggle and proceed into the nearest shopping mall, undoubtly to get her hair trimmed and washed and done before shopping for new clothes and gossip.

You just numb yourself and repeat over and over in your head that none of this matters. That though in another world maybe the guy the girl is planning to meet is you, and in that world your parents and your older brother are alive. You’ve grown up well, graduated with top grades, is attending some high class university in Seoul, and even though there are no stars in the sky there are stars in your eyes as you take that girl’s hand and escort her to dinner. But that is another world and you are trying to lose yourself in the reality of a dream.

“Kid! Move!” someone barks at you and lashes out with one foot. You stumble to your feet, blinking hard against the white wash of the rain. It’s some man in a black trench coat. He looks miserably wet despite his limp umbrella held high, hair dripping and expression sorely annoyed. “Kids these days. No curfews I tell you,” he mutters darkly. When you continue to stare he raises a fist and threatens, “Get going!”

You move mechanically. Numb, you tell yourself. It’s better if you just leave now than to stay and lose a fight that man is itching to have.

You stumble and you don’t care where you go. Somehow you end at the Han River. It moves with inky grace, swallowing the gallons of tears that rain down from the heavens above. In this dark mirror you are reflected. You have grown almost another head since you left that tiny town but all it does is make you look even more like a scarecrow, clothed as you are in ripped jeans and a dirty hoodie. You half wish that the river would just swallow you and your ugly self whole.

It is then that a scream pierces through the night, interrupting any such thoughts. _“Jieun!”_ is the name that is shouted out again and again. It cuts through the lashing rain, pure terror like ice on a chopping block.

You squint and wipe away the film of wet water covering your eyes. It’s a man and woman rushing about the bank of the river. They are soaked to the bone but they do not look like they care for their own wellbeing. “Jieun!” the woman sobs. “Baby! Where are you?”

Their daughter it must be. You stare at them rushing about, so much in love for their own blood. But then, from your position right up against the edge of the river you hear another scream. Quieter, higher-pitched, younger.

You peer into the blackness of the river and there you see a little girl, five or six, brown hair tumbling down over stained cheeks. She’s struggling in the waters, gasping for breath. She bobs up and lets out a scream of fear, right before the water crashes over her again.

“Umma!” she wails and chokes on a mouthful of water. “Appa!” You can practically feel her terror. She knows she is going to die.

Jacket thrown to one side, backpack dropped to the ground. You are in the waters before you even realize it. You are weak from hunger and tiredness but you’ve spent your youth swimming in the rivers of that tiny backwater town with your hyung enough that you can reach her. Your arms wrap around her tiny waist and you lay eyes on the most beautiful pair of brown eyes.

“W-who,” she stammers. She’s cold as ice. She’ll die of hypothermia if the waters don’t kill her first.

“Shh,” you say soothingly as you struggle to stay afloat. You know your accent will be hard for her to understand, but something needs to be said. Words at times like these can be a lifeline. Sure enough she stills, latching onto the knowledge that you are trying to help her.

“Oppa will save you,” you promise between breaths.

You toss her onto your back, one hand still clutching her hand just in case she loses grip. Then, awkwardly, with your other you paddle back to the shore. Your legs kick out hard but this journey feels more difficult. It’s not because the little girl is heavy or burdensome, because she’s still and quiet and the only reassurance you have that she’s still there is her tight vice-like grip on your wrist. It’s that you’ve been living on a diet of scraps and leftovers and it’s not enough to sustain you. But you have to. This little girl’s life is riding on your success.

“Jieun!” comes another call. The little girl jerks slightly in recognition of her name, and it’s enough to give you the final boost of energy to kick your way just a few meters shy of the shore. But that’s all you have in you. You know you won’t make it back to the shores, because the waves are getting stronger and the rain is lashing down even harder.

But you are just a meter away from the shore now…

“Jieun!” hollers a male, her father presumably. “Jieun?” Does he see you? Does he see her?

“Appa!” she manages to yell back feebly. “Appa!”

“Jieun!” He’s heard her.

You paddle, furiously trying to tread water, but it’s the waves. They’re bouncing off the edges and lashing back at you. Oh but Jieun’s parents are right there. They see you and they’re rushing over, and oh gods you can’t fail them – can’t fail her-

There’s only one thing left to try. You attempt to recall how the grass felt beneath your threadbare shoes. Were they springy? Were there rocks? But there’s no choice. This may be her only chance. You take it without thinking any further.

In one swift movement you grab her waist, twist her body around and with the momentum toss her high. She flies, mouth open in a small ‘o’ shape. And she lands on the bank, a little harder than you would like it, but she’s alive. Her parents are at her side in an instance, mother clutching her tightly with tears pouring down her cheeks and father throwing his sodden jacket over her.

You’ve done it. 

It’s enough now. So you let go. Let it all wash over you. Let the river take it all away. You feel the water caress your body, gently tugging it down, the currents carrying you far, far away from this starless city.

“Oppa!” you hear Jieun scream, loud and piercing, and you realize that she is calling for _you_.

You.

It is at the age of sixteen hovering upon seventeen that you realize that maybe some things do matter and that you have not led a completely useless life. You may have lost everyone whom you have loved in your life and found that the stars do not care about that, but that the world still continues to turn and some people will die and others live. 

And somehow, you are at peace with that.

*

You awake to a sky of bleak grey and white.

“Welcome to the afterlife kid,” a man says, all low and rumbly and it reminds you slightly of the first threats of thunder. This man however, as you will soon come to discover, is the least threatening person you have ever met.

You sit up, blinking hard. You are sitting on the banks of the river. And you are alive.

“How?” you whisper, patting yourself up and down. This is not possible. You were dying. You were dead. And now you are-

“You’re not dead,” the man says. You turn to look at him. He’s imposing, not by height but by sheer confidence. He wears a long black coat and dark black boots. He stares at you with a mixture of impassiveness and curiosity. “But you’re not alive either.”

You stare at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means you are neither dead nor alive,” the man says with a frown.

Your brow furrows and your lips dip down.

The man throws up his hands. “I don’t know what it means. This has never happened before. I’m just as clueless as you are.”

“Who are you?” you finally ask, deciding that introductions are in order if everything else is out of order.

He drops his hands. Tucks them deep into jean pockets. “I’m Death,” he says. “With a capital D. I’m the guy who’s supposed to find the recently deceased and guide their souls to the next life.”

You raise an eyebrow. “O-okay. So um what does that mean for me? If I’m uh…not really dead.”

The man exhales harshly. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Like I said, this has never happened to me before. And well, I’m new at this job but-“

“New?” you stare. “At this job?!”

“Well yeah,” he nods his head. “Being Death is a job. I was human once as well, but when I died I chose to take over the job as guide to the souls. I’m only a few decades into it, and well, there’s not exactly a manual explaining the details to the letter.”

“Oh,” you say. “So um, what are you going to do with me?”

The man ruffles his head with one hand. “I don’t know. Experiment I guess? See if I can lead to you to the next world? If not, then I’ll have to investigate more. I don’t think I can return you to the living world. I can try though…”

“No,” you say, shaking your head hard. “I don’t want to go back there.”

The man peers at you curiously. “You don’t? But didn’t you just try to save that little girl. Was she your little sister? I came here today to collect her soul but it appears you have taken her place.”

“I don’t know her,” you say truthfully. “I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

“And you sacrificed your life for a complete stranger,” the man says, sounding stunned.  

“Well yeah,” you say. “I mean she’s just a little girl. She has her whole life ahead of her.”

“You’re only sixteen kid,” the man points out.

“Seventeen,” you interrupt. When he frowns, you explain. “My birthday’s next week. I might as well be seventeen.”

The man rolls his eyes. “Fine. My point being, age nonwithstanding, is that you had your whole life stretched out in front of you too.”

 “No I didn’t,” you say softly, because that was no life you led. It was a mere existence. It was the act of being a warm blooded person with a heart of ice whose very presence was like a wisp to others. It was only at the very end that your life was finally worth something.

The man stares at you again, looking like he’s weighing his options up in his head. “Hey kid,” he finally says. “What’s your name?”

“Junhong,” you say after a moment of hesitation. You choose not to give a last name.

“Well Junhong,” the man gives a sudden grin, large and friendly, the edges of his gums showing. Death has a surprisingly wide smile. It’s infectious almost. He throws out one hand, holding it out to you. You take it a little uncertainly, but he pulls you forwards and upwards. He’s strong even though he looks skinny as hell. “My name is Bang Yongguk,” he says by way of introduction. “The way your soul currently is, neither dead nor alive, is my fault.”

You let go of his hand and immediately your legs wobble. It takes a moment for you to regain your balance. “What do you mean by that?”

Yongguk ruffles his head again, a nervous habit of his you realize. “When I saw you trying to rescue that kid I panicked and tried to save you. Guess I forgot I was dead right then, and I think me doing so did something to your soul. Phase it or something so that you couldn’t die completely. I guess it goes to show that even the Dead can’t stop death when it comes. So it’s my fault kid, and I apologize.”

“You don’t have to,” you say, slowly wrapping your head around his explanation. “I mean you were just trying to help.”

Yongguk gives you that big smile of his. “You’re sweet kid,” he says in that low voice of his, a voice that reminds you a little too vividly of another guy who always called you _precious_. “But it’s my fault, so I’ll do my best to help you out of it. Okay?”

He holds out one hand. It’s big and it’s sturdy, though his fingers are thin and fragile-looking, and you wonder if it’s really okay to take that hand.

Your hand hovers halfway but Yongguk takes that final step and grasps it firmly. A jolt of warmth floods through your body and the world around you seems to come alive. It’s still bleak grey and whites with muted tones of color, but it’s moving now. The river is flowing and there is the bustle of hundreds of people milling about the river. They wear black and blue and have cordoned off the area.

“They’re looking for your body,” Yongguk explains. “The family of the girl whom you rescued must have sent out a search team for you.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s nice of them.”

Yongguk chuckles. “Well you did save their little girl. I’m sure they’ll repay the favor by cremating your body nicely. Don’t worry kid, I’ll make sure the police find it.”

You give a short jerky nod. “Um thanks.”

You watch them for a while. Watch as the men prepare boats to go out and search, and watch as they return with a drenched, bloated body. Your eyes are closed and your limbs limp. You looked vaguely blue and extremely unattractive in death. The police are talking furiously into their radios. They’ll be spending the next few days searching for where you could have come from. Maybe they’ll track you down to that backwater little town and its orphanage and the boy whom you loved but who loved his slit wrists more, and from there to Mokpo, and to a beginning where a couple gave birth to a cheerful little boy. Or maybe they’ll hit a dead end and you’ll just be buried under more paperwork of other missing children and lost boys and that will be that. Either way, you realize it doesn’t really matter anymore.

You stick around Seoul for the next ten, twenty, thirty years or so. Yongguk has quickly figured out that he cannot ferry your soul to the next world and so you are stuck here. Your souls will not expire after 48 days and you are free to roam as you like. The world will appear at times in shades of grey and at other times in muted colors of the rainbow. The only constant is ironically that things are constantly changing and there is always something interesting enough to pass the time with.

For those first ten, twenty, thirty years or so, when you are not with Yongguk, learning his trade as Death and so on, or with Hyosung, the Ferrier of souls who seems to adopt you as her new little brother, then you are with the Jieun. You watch her flourish into a beautiful girl with long brown hair and the most beautiful eyes of all. Eyes that shine like the stars sparkle within them. You watch her grow up in a loving family, with parents who will always watch her with the slightest tinge of fear in eyes, that maybe their baby girl will suddenly be whisked away unfairly like she almost was that day so long ago in the lashing rain and hungry river.

But she doesn’t. You watch over as she graduates school, becomes a singer, dazzles the world with her gorgeous voice and her sweetness. You watch as she leaves the stage, gets married to a nice guy who loves her entirely, has two baby boys, but never does quite give up on singing. You watch as she cries when her father, and then her mother pass away from old age, but they have led good lives and are content to move on, knowing their baby girl is in the hands of someone capable. Yongguk ferries their souls to the end seas without much trouble.

And you watch through those ten, twenty, thirty, fifty, sixty years as she grows old and her kids grow up with hopes and dreams of their own. You watch as through the years the life of the girl you saved becomes a worthwhile life. And you watch as every year on the day you died she visits your grave with a handful of flowers. Tulips for gratitude, carnations for love, and gladiolus for ‘I will always remember you’.

*

You are over a hundred when Yongguk brings her soul to you.

She smiles at you sadly. Yongguk has explained it all to her. How you saved her and in doing so sacrificed your chance at being reborn. She tears up when she sees you, then throws her arms around your neck.

“You look exactly as I remember you,” she says fiercely. She doesn’t appear as an old woman in the afterlife. Neither though is she that bright, cheerful girl with a passion for singing. She seems to morph through the stages of her life, at times that little girl whom you once saved and at others a tired but happy mother with grey sneaking into her hair.

“You remember how I look?” you say a little dumbly.

She lets go of her embrace and nods. “Every detail. You were my savior.”

You blink at that title. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” you say a little bashfully. Those words have become a mantra seared onto your soul.

“Nonsense,” Jieun grins. She still has those gorgeous eyes full of stars no matter her age. “Not just anyone would have leapt into a raging river to save a five year old girl. You’re an angel, that’s what you are.”

You find yourself blushing. You open your mouth to say something back, but she shushes you with a finger over your lips.

“Let me say my peace,” she says softly and so you close your mouth and nod.

“I want to thank you,” she says. “For saving me. For watching over me. I’ve always felt you there you know.”

You’re a little surprised at this.

“There’s so much more I want to say, but we don’t have the time, do we?” she glances over at Yongguk who leans against the wall, watching with appraising eyes. “So basically, thank you. For everything. And I hope you find your happiness Junhong.”

You’re a little startled at this. It’s been a long time since anyone but Yongguk has called you by that name. You started using _Zelo_ around twenty years ago. You’d been in Greece at the time, soaking up some local culture, and had decided that name fitted you. God of rivals. You who rivalled both life and death.

“Goodbye Junhong,” Jieun whispers, and right before she leaves on her 48-day death ritual, she bounces forwards and kisses you on the cheek. “Goodbye my angel.”

And then she’s gone.

You watch her go, a wisp in the night sky. You don’t follow her journey to the end seas because you think that if you did you’d never let her go, she who was a bright star in your life. And some things need to be let go of.

Instead you cast your eyes upwards, and realize that even though the skies are bleak and grey, they are still there. They glint white across a canvas of black and they are so beautiful that it makes you smile.

*

You are seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, ten, eight, five, four, three, two, one, ten, twenty, thirty, fifty, eighty, a hundred going on a thousand when you realize that the stars will always shine.

They always have and they always will.

Even if the world crumbles and everyone dies, even if all is lost and hope is squashed, even if all of this happens, the stars will continue to shine.

You used to hate such consistency. But now you realize consistency might actually be a nice thing to have. It gives you something to hold onto when time stretches into a nonsensical rhythm of passing years and inflows and outflows of souls.

You are bordering on one hundred and twenty when you start paying attention to the souls that Yongguk ferries. You like to help them along their way and you consider taking up Yongguk’s job one day. On second thought though, you’re not sure if a not-dead soul can take up the job. You mull this over as you go on your way, and another few decades pass.

It is one day that you stumble upon Yongguk arguing with some human with fine features and an even finer tongue. By that you mean sharp. It’s a shocking sight really, for Yongguk – Yongguk the pacifist, always with a solution, always armed with calm words and cool logic – for him to be full out yelling, honestly it’s not a situation you’d see every day. You watch as he hisses and stalks away, boots heavy on the tarmacked ground and that leather jacket he’s upgraded his coat to swishing out behind him. He’s too angry to see you there; the human too upset to care.

You watch as you have always done – watch with the most minimal of interferences – as the human kills himself and slips into the afterlife. And then you realize that Yongguk is crying. He’s crying. And you have never seen Yongguk cry before.

And it’s because he’s in love. Infallibly, impossibly so. Love. Yongguk? In Love? It confuses you, for what is love? All you know of love is that it leads to loss. But here is Death, loving a human-turned soul. And there is you who could never truly last with love even when you were a human loving another human.

You watch, perplexed, as this soul – Kim Himchan, as he later introduces himself – makes friends with you and refuses to move on, even at the expense of losing his chance at rebirth, all so he can be with Yongguk. And then there’s another boy  who falls into death’s embrace and makes a deal, all for love. And then comes another, and another, all claiming that love is their motivation. And you are utterly confused at how this _love thing_ works.

You can’t understand how they can stand their little love tragedy, how they can stand constantly on a tightrope, _this_ easily from falling and losing it all. Isn’t it easier to just not have anything to lose at all?

And then you realize that the fact that you are worrying about them and their wellbeing means that they are slowly becoming to mean something to you.

And that’s scary.

It’s like holding a hand out to a giant four eyed beast, its mouth and those large vicious teeth so close to yours. Or it’s like you’re scaling a mountain and another person is right below you, ready to catch. It’s a trust exercise. But can you trust?  

Even worse: _can you love?_

*

And he tells you, _you can._

 _He_ is the soul that came chasing after Himchan who chased after Yongguk.

He’s not all that impressive on first looks, staring wide-eyed and slack mouthed at his surroundings like a foreigner on the streets of New York, just waiting to be pickpocketed by silver-fingered opportunists. The girl who stands by his side is the opposite, sharp-eyed and also sharp-tongued (as you discover later).

You had come to investigate a ripple in the veil between life and death. Subtle things like that was your forte. Unlike Yongguk who was too busy zipping between Seoul, Berlin and New York you had all the time in the world to stop and stare. It was only natural that over time you developed an interest in the anomalies of this world. Maybe it was because you considered yourself such an anomaly that it was only understandable for you to search out the other anomalies of this world. Perhaps then you would no longer be one of a kind and alone because of it.

You find however that Moon Jongup is a much bigger anomaly than you can comprehend.

“Hello?” is the first thing he says you upon noticing your presence. You stumble. You had thought yourself well-hidden. This makes you think twice about him. Perhaps he is much sharper than you first though-

“Am I dead?” he asks cheerfully.

You trip again.

“Jongup! Of course you’re dead. I told you that already didn’t I?” the girl besides him whacks him on the head.

He gives her a sheepish grin. “Sorry noona. I just thought it would be proper if we asked a resident of the afterlife for an official opinion.”

Huh.

You had stared hard at this walking jumble of contradictions, totally judging, but eventually his friend had stepped forwards and explained the whole thing. And oh, _oh_ … This boy, Moon Jongup, had died to come after Kim Himchan.

And so, confused, you ask him, “Why did you come after Kim Himchan when he died to be with Yongguk-hyung?”

His shocked expression speaks volumes. He did not know. He died thinking he could be with the man he loved. And you have just told him in the coldest, most factual manner that that will never happen. The girl snaps at you to get out of here and as you back away hesitantly you watch as this Moon Jongup guy breaks down into silent tears. The girl enfolds him into an embrace and you turn around the corner and wonder at the sudden ache in your chest. It’s a writhing, twisting tumult and it’s painful. You squeeze a hand over your heart and continue to wonder.

You just can’t understand.

On the other hand it seems this Moon Jongup guy understands everything.

 “You know where Himchan-hyung is?” he says later that night without hesitation. Without formalities. You stiffen, your back on your rooftop perch. You hadn’t sensed him coming.

“And if I do, how does that concern you?” you say, turning.

His eyes are opaque and unyielding, lit with the strange back burn flicker of a fire. “Take me to him,” he says.

“Is that a demand?” Your face if you could see yourself was priceless. Nothing had ever been demanded of you before the way this boy demanded it out of you.

“Yes,” Jongup had nodded, holding a trembling chin high as Hana had told him to. Then he relents. “Please.”

“Even after I told you that Himchan-hyung is in love with someone else?” You look him straight in the eye.

He doesn’t look away. “Especially because of that,” he had said unwaveringly.

“But won’t that hurt more?” you had said, feeling more and more baffled by the existence called Moon Jongup.

“Of course it will,” he had said softly. “But I’ve come this far. Rather than give up now, I’d rather try until the very end. I’d regret it elsewise.”

Honestly, you just couldn’t understand the way his brain functioned. So you had made up your mind. You would stick around Moon Jongup for as long as it took you to understand him. You had agreed to his demands, let him say goodbye to Hana and then had taken him to see Kim Himchan who was always with Yongguk-hyung and therefore was easy to find because you always knew where Yongguk was.

They had been standing hand in hand, Yongguk laughing heartily at some complaint that Himchan had been making about pastries. The sound shaped a tiny bubble around them, a world that no one could penetrate.

He had stared. You had watched.

One half-caught sob in his throat. That was all he allowed himself. You had been uncertain on how to proceed. Should you call out to your hyungs? Announce your presence? Jongup had erased your worries. He had stepped forwards and called out to Himchan in that soft cadence of his.

_“Hyung.”_

And Himchan had turned, joy rapidly giving way to horror as he took in Jongup’s visage. His hand had slipped out of Yongguk’s grip and Yongguk’s face had turned stony with contemplation. He glanced at you and you gave an almost imperceptible shake of your head.

You wanted to see how this would play out.

You hadn’t intruded whilst Jongup and Himchan had spoken, quiet words in the shadows of a building. But you couldn’t help by pry when Jongup had returned to your side, his face blank, devoid of any and all emotion. You had sat down and asked him the questions that spilled right off your lips.

“Does it hurt?”

He had nodded, chosen not to speak because words here could not convey the pain that he felt in his heart. He who knew himself so well; you who were as foreign to your own body as a stranger was.  Two opposites. Two equals. You found yourself drawn to him more and more.

“But do you feel regret?” you continued.

He lifted his head in surprise. Pressed one hand to his chest, and then said. “I don’t know yet.”

You weren’t quite sure what else to say in response to that. So you sat there in silence, waiting for him to make the next move.

He too looks in deep contemplation of the situation. “I never asked your name did I?” he finally said and you had goddam stared at him because of all things to be saying, he asks this?

“Zelo,” you replied, more out of mechanical politeness than anything else.

“Really?” he turns to stare at you. “Who names their son ‘Zelo’? Like that green jelly stuff they sell in the marts?”

Your jaw drops. “Not jello! Zelo! Z-E-L-O.”

“Oh,” he deflates. “Still…”

You ground out an exasperated sigh. “My parents didn’t name me that. It’s a name I picked for myself.”

“Yeah? Then what’s your real name? Your birth name?”

How on earth did you end up on this subject again?

“Junhong,” you relented.

“Surname?”

“Choi.”

“Choi Junhong huh?” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. You shoot him a look of utter despair. It doesn’t seem to affect him one bit. “So Junhong-ah, how did you end up here?”

You splutter. “Junhong-ah?!”

He peers at you. “I’m older than you right? I’m nineteen this year. And Yongguk-hyung said you were seventeen so-“

“So what! I’ve been living in the afterlife for almost a hundred years! I’m old enough to be your grandfather.”

He gave you a reproachful look. “Is that so _halabeoji_.”  

“Ah…” you made a face. “Please no.”

He had beamed. “Then Junhong it is.”

And you had to try and resist the growing urge to strangle him. When you had finally pulled your face up out of your hands you found him staring at you again. “What?” you had asked, jerking your head in reflex.

“Your hair,” he had said.

You had grasped a lock between two fingers. It had been blonde at that point of time, one of the few colors you had preferred. It had been the trend then to dye hair and you had followed it on a whim.

“What about it?”

“Why blonde?”  he had asked, pure curiosity.

You remember having to pause and think about it. To anyone else you would have just given a generic answer. _Oh, because I felt like it_ or _just wanted to._ But the truth is that the moment you had washed out the dye and dried your hair and looked in the mirror to see bright locks shining back at you, something had felt _right_ about the color. Blue, black, brown, red, all of it had been fine, but nothing had shone as brightly as blonde had.

“It makes you look like the sun,” Jongup had then proceed to say, and apparently it was as simple as that.

You had choked in response.

“Are you okay?” he turned quickly, alarmed. Patted you on the back gently like the hyung he was supposed to be.

“F-fine.” You waved him off. “I just…are you always like that?”

He gave you a puzzled expression. “Like what?”

“Like…” you gestured in a wide circle around you. “Like this? All cool and calm and collected all the time?”

He had stared at you for a few seconds, and you had held your breath, worried that you had somehow offended him and oh gods he was going to leave now and you were going to lose your only friend-

And then he had broken the pregnant moment with loud laughter. “Cool? Calm? Collected?” he doubled over laughing.

“What?” You were completely and utterly confused now.

He had wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye, still chortling. “You thought I was that sort of person?”

Dumbfounded at his amusement, you had nodded.

That made him crack up laughing again. “I’m not cool and calm and collected and whatnot at all! If anything that’s Himchan-hyung. I guess living with him for so long rubbed off on me and so I act like him, but I’m not actually!”

“Um…so…?”

“So actually on the inside I’m always scared, or worried, or thinking a thousand things. I just don’t show it.” The amusement on his face was warm and affecting. You felt it wash over you like summer warmed waves. “I’d say you’re more of the cool and collected type.”

You had blinked. “Hardly.”

“Eh?” He had looked at you disbelievingly. He kicked out and swung his legs over the rooftop edge, turning and looking far over the horizon. The sky that tonight had been scattered with stars. You remember it clearly. “But you’re always composed. You didn’t get angry when I demanded you take me to Himchan-hyung, and you didn’t get sad when Yongguk scolded you. Or are you hiding it all on the inside like me?”

Hiding it? No. You shook your head. “I thought…” you said, the words coming slowly as spun sugar as you had tried to force out your genuine thoughts because Jongup deserved them. “I always thought the only way to live was to be cold and to cut myself off from everyone else.”

Jongup had turned, eyes alert with interest.

“And that in order to survive I would have to maintain that façade. And then over time, that cold self became my inner self, and I guess…that I forgot what it was like to feel. To get hurt. To fall in love.”

Jongup had stopped swinging his legs then. His lips had parted in a silent ‘oh’. You stilled, unsure of what he would do now. Stay? Go? Speak? Remain silent?

He had done neither. Instead he had stood, grabbed your wrist and tugged you up so that both of you were standing on the precipice of the rooftop under an audience of shining stars. And then he had spun you, slowly, like a dancer in a ballroom and you remember being utterly, utterly confused by this boy.

“What are you doing?” you had said as you completed an awkward twirl.

He pressed one finger to your lips to shush you. Then he had tugged you further away from the edge, letting go and spinning with the momentum. You had watched as he began to dance under the starlight, uncaring of the rest of the world.

“Dance with me Junhong-ah,” he had called and despite your misgivings, you did. You let him grab your hands and you clumsily had followed his lead, dancing to the beat of the song he hummed. You hadn’t recognized it and it was slightly out of harmony but somehow that made it all the more endearing and you found yourself letting go of your worries and thoughts and just giving in to Moon Jongup’s innate silliness.

When he finished humming whatever song it had in his mind he hadn’t let go like you had expected. He had clasped hands with yours and drawn you in close. Smiled real wide.

“You’re wrong,” he had said, eyes sparkling like the stars above.

“About what?” you mumbled back, lost at the context.

“About yourself,” he clarified. “About you not being able to feel. Or get hurt. Or fall in love. You can. And that’s why you act like you do. Because you can feel, and you can get hurt, and you can fall in love.”

Your heart thumps at his words. Can you? Fall in love?

He smiles broadly. And you think that if it’s with him, then… maybe?

 “Hey…um… Jongup,” you say, fumbling for the right words. “What are you going to do now?”

He pauses and takes a half-step back. Lets go of your linked hands. You miss the warmth and the strength in his palms instantly. “I think…I’m going to wander around for a bit. Clear my head. See some stuff. I’ve got ages before my 48 days are up so I don’t have to worry about that. And like I said, I haven’t made up my mind about Himchan-hyung yet. So until then…”

“Can I come with you?” you blurted out and then immediately you had wanted to stuff the words right back in. You had felt your cheeks heat, mortification running in your blood vessels.

Jongup had just given you a gentle smile. “Give me some time Junhong-ah. I need some time alone to think this through.”  

“Oh…” you had felt yourself deflate as quickly as a popped balloon, all the helium escaping. But Jongup had read the hurt in your expression quickly and reached out, gathering all the lost particles back into that tight space. “Just for a little bit okay? Then I’ll come right back.”

You had swallowed, nodded. “Okay,” you had said softly. “Okay.”

His beam was blinding. “Okay.”

But then there were a thousand other worries. How would Jongup find you? Could he? What if you lost him before his days were up? Panic had seized your heart. But then as you had lifted your head skyward, an idea had slipped into your mind.

And then as you look up at the night sky, an idea shoots into your head.

“Hey…um…hyung,” you say tentatively. Jongup had perked up at the term immediately. His grin was almost infectious.

“Yes Junhong-ah?” he replies, eyes bright, smile brighter.

You had pinched his black hair with one hand. It was as silky as you had imagined. “How would like to dye your hair?”

His mouth had fallen open in surprise. And just as quickly had quirked back into a curious shape. “What sort of color?”

You had eyed the pink star above you, the North Star of the afterworld. A beacon to all who needed it. You had looked back at his expectant gaze and said your mind.

“How about pink?”

*

It had been three days since you had last since Jongup who had agreed to dye his hair, just not pink. _It’s too bright!_ he had complained. You had threatened to dye it white and he had run away.

“Hey.”

You hear the swish of his black army jacket before you see him. “Hey hyung,” you say in reply. Yongguk hunkers down next to you on the bench. White and wood framed. Dedicated to the deceased, with love. It’s quite sweet you think.

“How are you doing?” he asks, more out of courtesy than anything else. His mind, you know, is on something else.

“Fine hyung,” you reply mechanically. “How’s Himchan-hyung holding up?”

Last you’d seen of him was nearly three days ago.

“He calmed down after you left,” Yongguk says, not one to mince words. “That was a horrible thing you did to him.”

You aren’t one to decorate the truth either. “He deserved it. Jongup-hyung deserves his love just as much as you do.” 

Yongguk sighs, deep and rumbly. “It’s not that simple kid.”

You refuse to pout. You absolutely refuse to.

“Love makes people do weird things sometimes. It makes us act otherwise. To you it might appear illogical and unreasonable, but that’s what you get when you think with your heart rather than your head.”

You snort. “Why let your emotions get the better of you then.”

Yongguk remains solemn. “Because some emotions you just can’t control. That’s what it means to be in love I guess.”

Your heart does a little fumbly flip as you think back to that rooftop dance three days ago under thousands and thousands of stars.

“What are you going to do now hyung,” you ask Yongguk, hoping you seriously aren’t blushing.

He looks down at the ground, thankfully not at you. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “Just like that time back at the river, I’ve made another mistake and I don’t know how to solve it.”

You turn to look at him. “You think meeting Himchan-hyung was a mistake? You think I was a mistake?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No!” he says in a horrified voice. “You were great company to have around. And meeting Himchan was the best thing I could have ever done…”

“But?”

“But it was only ever good for me.” His eyes turn downcast again. He can’t hold your gaze. “I gain a momentary happiness but you and Himchan have lost everything else. He doesn’t care, but I do.” He drops his head to his hands.

You tilt your head skyward at the stars that are less visible during the day.

“Do you love Himchan?”

Yongguk gives a small scoff. “With all my heart.”

“So much that you would spend the rest of your life with him?”

“Of course,” he whispers.

“So much that you would sacrifice anything to get there?”

Yongguk makes a small wretched moan. “Why are you asking me these questions Junhong?”

You don’t look down either. “Because don’t you think Himchan thinks the same thing? That he was glad to give up everything if it meant being with you. I don’t think he regrets a thing, well maybe other than Jongup, but the point is that you aren’t the only happy one.”

Yongguk lifts his head slightly and you take this as a good sign.

“It’s the same for me. I may have lost everything in my previous life but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy now. In fact I think I’m happier than ever before, and it’s all thanks to you hyung.”

You look down at him, at his awe-stricken expression. You may not have grown since the day you died, but at some point you realize you feel taller than Yongguk. His imposing stature has shrunk. Or perhaps it is your confidence that has grown.  

“Are you happy hyung?”

He nods, dumbfounded.

“And aren’t you happy that Himchan-hyung and I are happy as well?”

He nods again.

You pull your face into a mock scowl. “Then what are you still doing here. Go find Himchan-hyung. He can’t wait forever for you.”

Yongguk gives a dark chuckle and ruffles your hair. You close your eyes and lean into the touch. This might be the last time you ever feel it and you want to relish in every last moment of it.

“Thanks kid,” he whispers, and then there’s a gust of wind. When you open your eyes he is gone and there’s a tinge of sadness that clouds your heart. Love may be constantly paired  with loss, but you figure that it only makes the moments you have before  losing it all the more special.

It makes you wonder now if you understand love a little better.

*

You are sitting on a train heading away from Busan when Jongup appears out of nowhere.

“I know how to save Himchan and Yongguk-hyung,” he says, making you jilt upward with shock. He  gets you every time.

“How?” you say, trying to appear casual as he drops down into the seat next to you casually. The shuddering sensation inside the train is comforting and you watch with interest as the countryside passes by outside.

“I met someone who can help us,” he says. “Wanna come with?”

“Did you make up your mind about Himchan then?”

“Yeah.” He nods and offers a small, sad smile. “I know what needs to be done.”

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

He nods.

“But do you regret it?” you continue.

This time he shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“Because I love him. That’s why.” He says it so simply.

Love, huh. Moon fucking Jongup. He should be some sort of philosopher or something.

Jongup stands and turns to face you. “Come with me and I’ll show you what love means,” he says and holds out a hand. You stare at it for a moment. At his offer.

He wiggles his fingers. “Nothing to lose,” he says teasingly. “Come on Junhong-ah.”

You lips twitch at the mention of your name. At the affection in his tone.

“C’mon,” he waggles them again. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, bright under the dye of his purple hair. “The night’s young, and there’s plenty to be done.”

You smile and give in. You figure it’s a universal impossibility to refuse Moon Jongup and his puppy dog face. So you take his hand and let the laughter bubble up inside your chest, bright as the stars outside.

*

And now?

Now it’s just the two of you.

*

“Do you miss them?” Jongup asks you one night as you both sit on the beach pier, feet handing over the side. His booted feet kick hard against the pier side; his heavy coat that once belonged to Yongguk is spread out behind him. You privately wonder where Hyosung is right now with her black boat full of souls.

“I miss them,” you say, kicking your feet against the wooden pillar of the pier. You do. You miss Yongguk-hyung’s stern but kind words as he watched over you, Himchan-hyung’s alert and friendly shower of love over you, and even as short as it was, Youngjae and Daehyun’s easy affection for one another that seeped out to all those around them.

“But do you regret it?” he asks.

The answer is easy. “I don’t,” you say. “They’re happier where they are, together now. Even if we’re in different worlds it doesn’t mean we won’t ever see them again.” Their red strings bind Himchan and Yongguk, Youngjae and Daehyun together. Whatever world they are reborn on they will be together and they will be happy. The thought of it makes you smile.

And here you are, together with Jongup for as long as time will allow you to be. Jongup is Death now and you are still stuck between the living and the dead. There is nothing that can separate you two, not time nor space.

You are no longer alone.

You tell him that and it makes him smile, wide and broad. His hair is brown now and wavy at the ends but somehow that encompasses his warm nature all the more.

Jongup shuffles over and nudges you with one shoulder, leans into you and you don’t shy away from the warmth. You may have lost everyone you ever loved in your living life, but in death you have discovered much more. An older brother figure, a sweet girl who calls you her angel, and the sweetest, kindest and sometimes silliest person you’ve ever met. And you know that this one isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

You can feel his promises, tight and warm and coiled in the palm of his hand that covers yours. _I won’t leave you_ , it says. _I’ll always be by your side. Thank you for being here Choi Junhong. Zelo. Neither dead nor alive, but I don’t care because all that matters is that we have eternity._

It’s not like you’re lovers, or in love with him or anything. You yourself still don’t truly understand the concept of roses and candle lit dinners. But if there’s one certainty it’s that you want Moon Jongup around. You want to be near him and touching him, hands threaded together or late nights spent with one leg thrown over another and hearts being in tandem as you lie on the beach and watch the sky above.

It’s not like you are lovers but it’s like you two are something more. You lean on him and he leans on you. With him you are learning what it means to live, to love, to lose. To know that all these things are okay. You two are jigsaw pieces that complete one another. 

And that’s okay. You may not be the missing piece of the unfinished puzzle that is the world around you, but you don’t need to be. You’re fine with standing aside and watching everyone pass you by.

You raise your head to look upwards, resting it atop Jongup’s crown, and though the sky is grey and white and bleak as hell, there’s one pink star winking above, and beyond it, a sea of a thousand others.

The world will keep on turning. People will die. Others will live. And you know that for a certainty, the stars will always shine for you, and this thought comforts you as you close your eyes and fall into a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> It's not beta'd and there was a lot of experimenting when i wrote this piece. So if you made it to the end, congrats, and a huge thanks. I hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
